


Tyranids VS. the Vegans

by SippingCider



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27715966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SippingCider/pseuds/SippingCider
Summary: Once upon a time there was a Tyranid.  A big Tyranid; one of the yellow ones with pointy teeth. Before her: a juicy planet filled with squirming, tasty humans. A small force of defenders grips their meager las-guns with shaky hands. Drool oozes from the Tyranids mouth. She was very hungry.Her brothers, were not.They had eaten too many vegans on the last planet, and the vegan gene was part of their biomass, infesting her hive fleet. “We only eat plants now,” the’d chitter across the psychic channels. “Yes...” another hissed, “...let us pass this planet and let the humans live in peace.”One Tyranid stands alone against this unprecedented threat. Can she save her fleet from fleshy abstinence before it’s too late? Can she bring her brothers back to mindless hunger before they pass the human planet by?
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:
> 
> This story is meant to be non-nonsensical comedy, but it might still be triggering on the topic of veganism. There are also gross descriptions of battle and alien life. There are major character deaths.
> 
> If none of that bothers you, I hope you enjoy :)

The big Tyranid shifted her weight. Warm, liquid biomass sloshed in her cell. She blinked open three of her eyes; two peered down at her sides and one looked forward to the entrance of her cell. The liquid biomass, a blue-green substance, filled her cell up to her waist. She felt a brownish chunk bumping against her second stomach. Through the milky sheet of membrane encasing her cell she could vaguely make out a deep chamber lined with similar cells. They were filled with the horrific shapes of her sleeping brothers.

Slowly, letting her muscles shake off the grogginess of sleep, she curled a tentacle around a knob protruding from the waxy wall. Then she squeezed. Her cell shuddered. Biomass oozed from wrinkled pores on the walls. Steam rose and tumbled off her thick scales. The incoming streams of biomass thinned, and then died off. She surveyed her cell. The pool had only risen one of her three stomach’s worth up her body.

< _BROTHERS!_ > the Tyrannid shrieked across the psychic channels, < _I REQUIRE MORE SUSTENANCE. DONATE YOURS NOW!_ >

One of the bigger, longer shapes in a far off cell twitched. Then, < _Lumpy? Is that you? You know we are low on biomass, gots to ration it till the next green planet._ >

Another shape, large and round, vibrated in its cell. < _Ain't me, Long-Bottom. I knows the situation. I have first priority access to the Hivemind itself._ >

< _Don't call me that! My name is Slick, Okay?_ >

A third shape, microscopic in comparison to the first two, stirred from its slumber, < _Ugh, is Long-Bottom complaining again? Let it go Big Brother, you can get a new name when your essence is destroyed and reformed into a new body. Your name fits your form._ >

< _Lumpy, please inform the Hivemind that I shall be eating one of the rippers._ >

The small shape started thrashing back and forth in its cell, < _Come and get me, Looong-Bottom. I’m ready for re-absorption! I bet my mass gets re-birthed as a Hive Tyrant, and then we’ll see who’s eating who!_ > A cacophony of psychic laughter followed.

< _SHUT UP! IT'S ME, SHARKA!_ > Silence in the channels. < _Good._ > she continued with softer signals, < _Now that you’re all awake, kindly donate your biomass. I am running low._ >

The roundish shape, she guessed it to be Lumpy, stretched and rotated. A single eye popped open, staring at her. < _The hivemind does not want you consuming the fresh stuff, Sharka. Not until its been processed by the central hive organs._ >

Sharka gnashed her teeth. _Lumpy’s always telling me what to do, disobeying my commands in favor of the Hive’s. I might have to go with Long-Bottom’s idea and eat the irksome Swarm Lord._ She bowed her head. < _You’re right as always, Lumpy. If I’m going to grow up to be a strong and safe Norn Queen I need to consume only the biomass processed by the central hive-mind. > _

_ <Very good, Sharka. A strong Queen births strong soldiers, and strong soldiers makes for a strong hive.> _

_ <Yes, yes. But a strong Queen has a strong appetite too. Have the lictors found any nearby planets yet?> _

_ <The hive will inform you of invasion when you are ready and needed. Until then, wait patiently. I suggest sleeping to help pass the time. It was what our ancestors did during the Great Crossing.> _

She sighed and closed her eyes, attempting to fall back asleep. Small, psychic bickerings between Long-Bottom and the Ripper soldier chittered on the channels. To distract herself she thought about the Great Crossing. 

Genetic memories flashed in her mind. An unfathomable stretch of empty space, void of anything living or dead. An endless waiting. And the hunger. A terrible, biting hunger that drove her ancestors mad. 

Her reverie was shortly broken by Long-Bottom’s squealing, < _It's not fair, Sharka! They gave me the worst name! I want something like yours; fearsome and demanding of respect. Make them change it, please!_ >

Sharka sighed. Names were a new thing to their section of the hive. Ever since their last planet gorging the newlings had insisted on names. Before they had known each other only by scent and psychic signature. Now, everyone was supposed to be unique, to have an identity. They had ganged up and forced the name Sharka on her; claiming she was cold and dangerous like some amphibious alien species on a far off planet. 

Ignoring Long-Bottom’s pleas, she ripped a slit in the membrane wall and pushed out of her cell. Liquid biomass spilled out, dripping down into the chamber of slumbering Tyranid warriors. She wasn't worried about the waste, the ship would absorb the spilt biomass. Already the walls were sucking it in and pushing the biomass back through the ship’s veins to the central storage organs.

Clinging to the tissue-like wall with suction pores along her tentacles, Sharka shimmied her way up. Upon reaching the top of the chamber she pushed open a flap and squeezed into a small tunnel. From there she wriggled, slid, and pulled her way to the ship's mouth.

Once outside she opened her remaining eye and gazed out into space. A Norn-Queen-Pupa, she could have commandeered the ship's oculars and observed space from her cell. But there was something about looking with her own eyeballs that made the view all the more special. Peering through the psychic storm and armada of bio-ships that accompanied their fleet, she could observe the space they travelled through.

Vast blankets of darkness whipped by them as they flew. White pinpricks of starlight twinkled briefly in passing. Her outlying spectrum seeking retina’s gave color to gas staining the black tunnel through which they sped. Sharka smiled with her inner mouth. After the unbearably long journey through the empty void, she enjoyed viewing the galaxy they had arrived in.

A flash of excitement tugged at her from the psychic channels. With half a mind she listened in on the exchange, keeping her eyes on the passing space as she did so.

< _Oh great Hive, it is good to feel your presence once again!_ > The first presence felt on edge, maniacal. The collective chitterings that replied felt distant and shrouded, though Sharka knew they were just a few bioships away.

< _It has been long since we sent you aboard that human space-craft, Patriarch. Why do you contact the Hive now?_ >

< _Good news, brothers and sisters! Such good, delicious news! This planet is ripe with biomatter, ha! And, hehe, ready for harvesting._ >

After a short pause, the whispering of the Hive replied, < _Much time has passed, brother. Things are...different in the Hive. We must ask, what matter of species occupy your planet?_ >

< _Ha! Meager humans, practically defenseless and...thick...in number. Their flesh will su- he...sus- ha! Sustain us for many stars._ >

Sharka’s outer mouth slid into a grin. She turned to go back inside, but stopped when she heard the Hive’s reply.

< _Thank you for this information, brother. The Hive will consider what to do, and inform you if you are needed. For now sit tight, and do not let your cult be discovered._ >

Sharka did not feel the Patriarch’s glee as it cackled, < _Hehehe! The beacon is ready...hahaha!_ >


	2. Chapter 2

Nigel pushed a leaf on his salad with his fork and sighed. Around him humans committed the sin of consuming cooked life-forms. 

To his left a woman tore bites off two sautéd fish, funneling them into her mouth as fast as her arms could rotate. That was Martha, his supervisor. She was a portly woman with black, short-cropped hair. Her arms were thick and red; a byproduct of growing up near the planet's furnace. 

To his right along the table sat the rest of his unit. Lanky Dylan, dark skinned and bald, was intently sawing off strips of roasted chicken. Barb slurped purple Meal-In'a-Cup through a straw. She was trim and clean as a whistle; her dark hair straight and flopped to the side. Barb was the only decent one in the group, besides Nigel. By contrast, across the table Carl was wrestling with the carcass of a crab-looking alien species. Carl was mean, dirty, and missing half his teeth. He had red hair, and just as fiery a passion.

They were on lunch break, dining in a rustic cafeteria on the factory planet Cipher 112. Tables similar to theirs filled the room; Imperial workers swathed in orange jumpsuits filling the tables.  _ One more year _ , Nigel thought to himself, brushing his long, dark hair with his long, dark fingernails,  _ just one more year and I'll be off this disgusting planet. _

Martha paused with a fish inches from her face and belched, "Look what Carl's eating! I bet that boy'd swallow a Tyranid if it weren't against Imperial regulations!"

Bawdy laughter broke out among the table. Spittle flew from gaping mouths; chunks of meat splattered across Nigel's salad. With a grunt he pushed himself from his seat and turned to leave. 

"Ohh Nigey," Martha's cooing stopping him dead in his tracks, "don't cha worry your sweet little heart away. Come, finish your meal. It's the last you'll get today."

"Awe man! We got Command Sector today?" moaned Dylan, one hand resting on the knife sticking out of his chicken.

"Hush, Dylan!" Martha snapped, "You know Terra7 is Command sector day, same as always. Nigel, finish your lunch. I don't want an officer finding you passed out from exhaustion in their command room again."

"I'm not hungry," he growled.

"What a limp of Xeno," Carl sneered, "how a vegan became a cleaner boggles me. This job takes guts, ya know?" Martha folded her arms and leaned back, watching with her small, bird-like eyes. Nigel clenched his hands into fists.

Before he could reply Barb's cup touched the table with a soft clink. All eyes turned to her, watching silently. She looked at Carl and spoke with a quick, efficient accent, clipping her words, "Recall the Ork gunk you could not reach in a certain Space Marine's armor? If not for Nigel, we would all be under Inquisitor investigation, and most likely already laser fried."

"Shush it, Barb!" Dylan hissed, leaning low over the table, "We're still not in the clear for that! Nothing hides from the Inquisitors baleful gaze."

"Bah, that was years ago," Carl dismissed with a wave of his hand, "being tall doesn't mean you have guts. Besides, we should have never been cleaning no Space Marine armor on Command Sector day. We have industrial tools for jobs like that."

"Speaking of which," Martha commanded, "One hour until today's Command Sector shift starts. Let's take ten more minutes to finish up here and then head down to processing. Nigel you don't have to eat proteins if you don't want to, but finish your chaos cursed salad, for the Emperor's sake."

_ You can get protein without sucking the life out of tortured animals _ , he thought. But he knew how such arguments went with Martha, and decided it was better to stay quiet. With a sigh he flopped down in his seat and stared at his spit-covered salad.


	3. Chapter 3

Just as Martha predicted, it took them exactly ten minutes to finish their meals (Nigel finishing his with a quick turning of his plate when she wasn’t looking). 

From the cafeteria the cleaner gang hopped in their industrial rover. Dylan took the wheel. He drove them across dirty concrete fields into the open hangar of a docked transport carrier. The giant, rocket powered crate was quickly filled with similar rovers and closed its doors for launch. It leapt over the cacophony of factory boxes cluttering the ground below; sailing through the smog filled air of Cipher 112; before finally landing in the spacious landing grounds of the Command Sector. The entire trip took fifteen minutes. To Nigel, who had to listen to Carl complaining about Psyker scans the entire time, it felt like hours.

“It's my mind,” Carl whined as Dylan drove the rover down the Hangar’s exit ramp. “They have no business poking around in there! Humans are not Xenos, we don’t need to be checked for corruption!”

“Humans get corrupted all the time,” Nigel guffawed, “Even Estartes aren’t above the influence.”

“Ork feces!” Carl retorted, “I’ve watched the Galactic News Report every day of my life, and I’ve never heard of a space marine falling under the influence! And those few humans you hear about: it's all propaganda for...” He quieted as they pulled up to a check-point. A woman with hard, black eyes glared from behind a glass booth. She wore grey Imperial Armor in fashion for the local militia; the cavalier chest-piece divided into hand-sized hexagons; a chrome helmet covered all but her face.

Dylan held out Martha’s badge and spoke from his throat, “Imperial workers, here on important business.” Barb giggled in the back seat.

“Aren’t we all,” the woman in the booth replied dryly.

“Yes, well...” Dylan began.

The guard cut him off while snatching the badge from his hand, “Save your story for the inquisitors. My job is just to scan your badge and blast your brains out if it doesn’t register.” She thrust the badge into a small machine. A yellow light flickered on on its top.

Dylan gulped and his voice returned to its normal pitch, “Right, my bad.” Inside the booth the machine whirred. The guard stood still as a statue; one eye trained on Martha’s badge, the other on the rover. 

Martha nudged Dylan and whispered, “Real smooth.”

He coughed and tried again in his low voice, “Bad day, huh?”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, the guard’s soldiers dropped, “Yeah. Command Sector’s been crazy this morning. An emergency meeting was called and its put all the officers in a bad mood.” The light turned green. She moved to retrieve and return Martha’s badge.

He purred, “Don’t you worry, doll. Their mood will improve when they forget whatever their silly meeting was about.”

The guard stopped with her hand gripping the badge half-way between the booth and the rover. Her eyes narrowed, “What if I told you their ‘silly’ meeting was regarding a Tyranid fleet that has swallowed Eggplant 43 and is headed our way?”

Barb gasped.

Nigel’s heart dropped to his stomach.

“Imperor protect us,” Martha whispered.

“Chaos cool!” Carl cheered, “Our troops will scour those vermin from the galaxy!”

Dylan stared in shock. Then, he blinked and delicately grabbed the edge of Martha’s out-stretched badge. His lips slid into a smirk; his left brow raised high. Eyes twinkling beneath his lashes, he cood, “What’dya say to meeting me for a beer once your shift’s through? I know a fun place in the Citizen’s Sector. If the end times are upon us, ” He finished with a wink, “Best to live life to its fullest.”

A sly smile spread across the guard’s face. Her eyes grew wide. She purred, “Oh, I’d love to. Just one problem...” she turned up her nose, lowered her eyes, and let go of the badge, “I can’t date a man named ‘Martha’ who has a picture of a fat women for his ID.”

“No, I’m Dylan!” he protested, his low-voice facade forgotten, “Martha’s my superviser!”

“Thank you for your time ma’am,” Martha cut curtly, reaching across Dylan’s seat, “We’ll be on our way now.” She punched the break release.

Dylan was continuing, “We just use her badge to paaas…” when the rover lurched forward and his head was flung back. With a grunt he grabbed onto the steering wheel and wrestled the vehicle back under control. The check-point guard’s howling laughter drifted behind them as they sped away.

“At least she’s not having a bad day anymore,” chirped Barb.

“Ork feces, Martha,” Dylan growled, “Why’d you do that?”

“You never know when to give up,” Barb tsked. “Imperial workers on important business? It says we’re cleaners on the badge. No way she was going to fall for that. Face it, big guy, the only girl you’re going to get is a low-born citizen, same as us.”

“I almost had her!” he whined, “I was melting her defenses with every move!”

“You wouldn’t want that grot-bitch anyways,” Martha snapped, then muttered, “I’m not fat. Just thick-boned.”

They continued to bicker. Nigel didn’t hear any of it. His mind and heart were far away, yet not so far as the Imperial Cruiser flies.  _ One more year and I was going to leave this forsaken planet.  _ Salt water stinged his eyes and blurred his vision.  _ I was going to meet my family, waiting for me on the most vegan-friendly planet in the galaxy. _ He brushed his eyes with an arm and dug a hand into his pocket. Probing fingers quickly found the familiar starchy fold and pulled out a rectangular peice of paper.  _ I was so close, just a dozen star systems away. _

As the rover bumped and hummed towards the Psyker Scan-Gate, Dylan arguing against Martha and Barb, Nigel stared at the paper in his hands. In large, red bold letters it read:

**One Way Ticket : Cipher 112 > Eggplant 43**


	4. Chapter 4

Deep within the Psychic channels the chitterings and hissing of the Hive could be heard. Sharka forced her mind into the conversation with a bellow, < _Brothers and sisters, we must delay no further! > _

A pause, and then a low, wearisome thought, _ <Sharka…> _

_ <We are running low on biomass. Just a moment ago I was woken from my slumber for lack of sustenance. Me! A Norn-queen should never lack for biomatter!> _

_ <We know. We felt that...episode...through your mentor, lumpy. We see all.> _

_ <Maybe you see the physicalities, but you are blind to wits! Opportunity for fuel presents, and here you bicker...> _

_ <Sharka, this decision is not for you to make. This decision...> _

_ <The decision is clear! We must consume the human planet! We are Tyranids! We are...> _

_ <ENOUGH!> a chorus of thoughts roared in unison. _

Sharka’s mandibles trembled agape. 

The following Hive thought dripped with disgust, _ <You are not grown enough to be part of this discussion. Your thoughts, your feelings, they are as relevant as a ripper’s.> _Sharka’s tentacles quivered in rage. Her psychic thoughts were silent. The Hive continued its counsel. To Sharka’s mind, and the rest of the lower Hive creatures, the conversation dimmed behind a psychic veil.

She stood frozen atop her bioship. _No, their bioship. I have no power, no authority. I’m no more than a...a ripper to them!_ Stars whizzed by, but Sharka saw none of it. _My Hive is considering ignoring a Patriarch’s call_ . In all of her memories passed down from her ancestors, she could remember no such cowardice, nor weakness. _They would have me wait on the sidelines while they starve our Hive!_

Sharka dug her talons beneath a ship’s skin-flap and pulled up. Warm, oily air gusted against her face. It had a sharp metallic smell. _If I am ever to be a Norn-queen, I can’t let my Hive succumb to soft stomachs._ With a snarl she thrust her head into the exposed vein and wiggled her body in afterwards.

As she squirmed her way towards the bowels of the bio-ship, warm blood sacs pressing against her sides, she maintained an open mind to the Psychic channels. Besides the veiled chatter of the Hive-mind, most of the Hive itself was in hibernation. Occasional dream-burps whispered at the edge’s of her mind. The first faint image was that of a snake-like Zoanthrope, dancing amidst a barrage of laser-fire. The poor Tyranid was surrounded on all sides by cold, lifeless machines. _Good luck surviving that in real life!_ Next she witnessed a bulkier psychic grappling with a horned beast. She shuddered. _Haven’t seen those Xenos in this new galaxy yet, but it's worth being prepared. They gave us too much trouble in our home galaxy._ The final dream she glimpsed was more of a feeling one than an image; a tyranid’s stomach struggled with digesting a hard, rocklike alien. It twisted and squeezed, boiled and melted. No matter what the stomach tried, nothing seemed to break the xenos apart.

She was cut off from the dream-burp when the capillary she travelled opened up into a larger transport vein. Pungent, sour smells hit her nostrils. The walls dripped with the remains of moved bio-mass. Sharka licked her lips. _No, I must resist._ _Lumpy was right, I should only consume the fresh biomass processed by the central fleet organs._ Steeling her stomachs and sealing her mouths, she pushed herself into the intestine-like vein. 

Immediately a familiar thought cry reached her mind, < _...fair! Georgor and Perrycer are Malanthropes too, and they got fearsome names! No enemy will cower when they hear “Long-Bottom”. Besides, Sharka is on MY side. And you BETTER listen to her; Sharka’s going to be a Norn Queen someday._ >

Sharka grinned, < _Long-Bottom._ >

< _Oh, hi Sharka! I was just telling Lumpy...hold on, why did you call me “Long-Bottom”? My new name is “Slick”, remember?_ >

< _I agreed to no such renaming._ > Laughter broke out along the channels, indicating a number of Tyranid had been listening in on the conversation. < _But..._ > she silenced the laughter, < _I will agree to officially endorse your renaming under one condition: Help me invade the human planet._ >

A moment of silence gripped the connection. Then, an enthusiastic, < _Deal! “Slick” will be your most fearsome Malanthrope, my Queen!_ >

< _Long-Bottom!_ > Lumpy scolded, < _Remember your values! And Sharka...what are you doing? The Hive has not yet decided the best course of action regarding the human planet._ >

< _How can I ever be a Norn Queen if I never make any decisions? I can’t just sit back and do nothing while our leaders starve us. I must do what is best for the Hive!_ >

< _Calm your heart, Sharka. The time will come when your thoughts will be valued, when you WILL make important decisions. But that time is not now! You are still too young to know what is best. For you and for the Hive._ >

Sharka paused her descent, clinging to an intestinal bump. She hissed, and then thought with cold command, < _Slick, gather what soldiers you can and meet me at the rectum. We have a planet to devour._ >

< _Sharka...!_ > Lumpy protested, but she was already blocking him. Tentacles relaxed, and she dropped down into the dark shadows of the intestine. She flung her mind far out into the reaches of space, searching. It didn’t take long to sense the dim cackling of a maniacal mind.

< _Hehehe..._ >

< _Patriarch._ >

< _Haha...oh. Hello. > _

_ <I am Sharka, and I will be...> _

_ <What is a Sharka?> _

_ <My name is Sharka. Names are...a new addition to the Hive. Nevermind it, just know that I will be representing the Hive.> _

_ <Oh-oh ho! The Hive is ready to fe...hehe...feed? _>

< _The Hive hungers. Prepare the Beacon-ooph…!_ > She landed with a thump on the bottom of the bioship’s stomach. She was sprawled on a bumpy, hard surface. Quickly she closed her nostrils; no amount of willpower would save her from the stronger tempting smells of the stomach. Around her, hot liquid dripped into claw-deep puddles. _I didn’t know we were this low on fuel._ Damp air clung to her tentacles. A semi-digested life-form moaned in the dankess.

< _Yes, yes! The beacon is ready!_ >

Sharka shifted to her feet. Further ahead was the rectum exit; a dark hole grown against the stomach wall. She shambled toward it.

< _Activate the beacon now. Prepare your cult for infestation. In a moment my fleet will launch. After that it won't take very long...hold on._ > She paused. Her tentacle pores had picked up slight rumblings across the stomach floor.

She cast a thought in a new direction, < _Long-Bottom...I mean Slick, where is my invasion force?_ >

A pause, and then a gasped reply, < _Almost ready, my Queen! We are heading down the spine now; had to stop to pick up some extra warriors along the way. Should be there any moment!_ >

 _Strange._ Slowly, Sharka crept forward, skirting the acidic puddles to make less noise. The soft moaning was getting louder. Gruesome shadows flitted near the rectum’s mouth. She sped up, tentacles rolling smoothly along the stomach floor. _It looked like…_

 _ <Hehehe!> _ , came the Patriarch’s cackle, _ <Emitting the beacon now!> _

She cursed, _ <Wait..!> _

Below her came a piercing, “Screeeee!” Reflexes, passed down from the genes of a bird-like alien that had been absorbed from a lightning-storm planet, kicked in. Faster than thought she dove to her left, crashing into a puddle with a tremendous _splash._ Where she had stood a small, shell-like alien spun in place. A large bite had been taken from its side; orange gas spewed from the wound. A moment later the gas sputtered out, and the stomach chamber was plunged into silence. No moaning, no screeching, just the occasional _hiss_ and _plunk_ of dripping, hot liquid. 

She reached out a tentative tentacle…


	5. Chapter 5

< _ Sharka, you can come out now. _ >

Her tentacle froze mid-air, < _ Who’s there? _ >

The shadows shifted before her. She lifted her inner eye eyelid to expose her high sensitivity oculars, a feature her hive had absorbed from cave dwelling xenos long ago. The details of a grotesque giant immerged. It lumbered on muscled stalks, thick as her waist. Lanky limbs, equipped with bone slicing talons, swung at its side. Bone exoskeleton plates protruded along its back and down its tail. The thin layer of skin was a sea of swollen bumps, tinted yellow just like hers. 

< _ Oh, hello Lumpy. I was just breathing in the stomach fumes. If I’m going to grow up into a strong Norn Queen I need to stretch my tenta... _ >

< _ I know what you are planning to do. _ >

Her tentacles coiled in defense and her talons popped from her pores. The Swarmlord eyed her combative stance with leisure, < _ Relax, I am not here to stop you. _ > She didn’t move a muscle.

Lumpy sighed; mountains of bone and muscle heaving, releasing a cloud of dormant dust. < _ The Hive does not want to lose a potential Norn Queen, not after all the biomatter we’ve invested in you. I am to accompany you to the human planet, where you will see for yourself the value of alien life.> _

< _ And if I snack a bit during this...tour...of the human planet?> _

_ <Then there truly is no hope in saving you.> _

She grinned, flashing her teeth.  _ You are the one who needs saving, brother. You and all my kin. <Very well, I shall allow you to accompany me to the planet.> _ She turned towards the Rectum exit and made to slide past him.

His left spine-bone, which was protruding high above his back, twiched. Two burly Hive-Guards stepped forth from the shadows, blocking her path.

Lumpy laughed, < _ Let me be clear: I will be the will of the Hive in this endeavor...> _

She sighed, < _ Fine.> _

_ <...And you will relinquish control of the Malanthrope…> _

She ground her teeth.

<..., _ Long-Bottom, which will once again be his name, as it was originally chosen by the Hive!> _

_ Oh brother,  _ she rolled her eyes.  _ <If that is what the Hive wills…> _

_ <It is.> _

As if on cue, the Malanthrope sent a hesitant thought, < _ Ahem, Sharka?> _

_ <I’m still alive.> For now. _

_ <Yes, good job! However, a slight problem. We’re just outside the rectum, and it's chock-full of woken Tyranid. I’m trying to recruit them, but they’re being especially stubborn. Can I have permission to eat them?> _

The Swarmlord’s eyes flickered, now fixated on her. She sighed, < _ There’s been a change in leadership. Those are Lumpy’s Tyranid, and we are Lumpy's too.> _

_ <What!? Why do we have to listen to that fat and pompous fool!? Erm...don’t tell him I thought that.> _

A wide grin spread across the Swarmlord’s face. He nodded to her, his backbone twitched, and the guards stepped aside. She took a deep breath and slithered forward. As she made her way down the dark rectum passage, she heard the low thoughts rumble, < _ I heard what you thought, little brother.> _

_ <No….> _

_ <Oh, yes.> _

_ <No, no…> _

_ <And one more thing our Norn Queen-to-be forgot to mention: Your name is Long-Bottom once again.> _

_ <Noooo! Sharka, say it isn’t so! I beg you…> _

She closed her mind to the psychic channel in his direction. Before her, the rectum tunnel opened up into the bioship’s launch-bay. Scores of smaller bioships clung to their holding cell walls, ready for departure.  _ Lumpy amassed a much bigger fleet than I could have, I'll give him that. _

Behind her in the rectum she sensed Lumpy was still gloating over Long-Bottom's embarrassment. Alone in the launch port, she quickly sent a message to the Patriarch, < _ The Hive is on its way. A Swarmlord will replace me in representing the hive. Do not mention to this Swarmlord that I ever contacted you. He does not need to know.> _

The only reply was a distant cackle, but she sensed the Patriarch got her message. She turned to face the dark rectum tunnel and sat, waiting for her kin to join her.  _ I will save you, brothers and sisters, even though you do not realize you are in need of saving. The Hive will eat flesh once again. _


	6. Chapter 6

A lance of cool electricity pierced into Nigel's mind. It pushed against his brain and scraped around his skull. 

"Ahh!" he yelped, bending over and clutching at his ears. The next instant the pain was gone; the invading electricity having retreated as quickly as it had struck. Slowly, he straightened and looked around.

To either side, robust, hundred foot tall walls curved away to the horizon. Nigel stood in a gap, bathed in purple lights connecting the thick wall edges. Soldiers clad in carved grey armor stood at attention against the walls. Sleek, black lasguns rested in their arms. Above, foggy glass covered burrowed chambers in the walls. Behind stretched a line of dozens of Imperial workers, dressed in orange jumpers and greasy helmets. 

Ahead, wide, concrete steps rose to the looming Command Sector fortress. Dark roofs hung low over polished brown walls. Along the steps and beneath the shadows dozens of people walked quickly. There were decorated officers, imposing guards, and smoot-stained workers. At the foot of the steps Martha stood with arms folded and foot tapping. Carl posed erect beside her, leering at Nigel.

“Clear!” a static voice crackled from above.

Against the throbbing pain in his head, Nigel thought his usual mantra,  _ It’s worth it in the fight against chaos. We must be scanned to stamp out corruption. _ He took a deep breath. Purple specks swam across his eyes.  _ I am a valuable Imperial worker, and now I must clean the Command Sector. _ He lifted a leg to step forward…

...and was shoved hard in the back. “Move along, citizen,” a low voice growled. 

“Ork feces!” he snapped, clawing the air with his fingers and whirling around to face his attacker. The cold point of a black lasgun was pointed at his midriff. The sad, grey glasses of the guard holding the weapon peered down at Nigel.

“Look how crazy this one is,” the guard raised his lasgun to squint through its sight, “thinks he’s got talons or something.”

“You hit me,” Nigel snarled.

Another soldier, identical in uniform, stepped forward from the checkpoint passage. A slightly higher pitched voice rasped, “Should we scan him again?”

Keeping his gun leveled at Nigel, the first soldier nodded at the glass panes above, “You sure he passed? Looks chaos-infected to me!”

A bulky shape pressed against the glass. The person was wearing a black coat and brown goggles. The static voice replied, “Citizen is Chaos-negative. Move the line along.”

The soldier stepped forward and Nigel jumped back. He thrust the gun and spat, “Get moving, scum.” Nigel turned and half-stumbled half-ran. Carl and Martha stood waiting at the base of the concrete steps.

“Can’t handle a short Psyker scan?” Carl sneered, “and just earlier it was  _ you  _ who was arguing for this transgression of privacy.”

“It's for the safety of...” but he could not finish his retort. An image of squirming Tyranids descending on Eggplant43 played in his mind.  _ Nothing is safe. None of our security matters. _

“Enough of this bickering, we’ve got plenty of work ahead of us,” Martha scolded. She whirled around and marched up the steps. Carl and Nigel followed meekly behind. “And Nigel, I swear on the Emperor’s Throne, if I find out you tossed your salad at lunch, I’m going to force you to eat meat.” Nigel gulped.


	7. Chapter 7

Thick coils of smog rose up and swirled around the artificial atmosphere of the human planet.

< _ Their technology stinks. _ > Long-Bottom remarked, leaning his long neck over the edge of the Narv’hal's launch bay. Sharka, unlike her brothers, was imbued with a healthy gene for fear of heights, and stayed a good distance from the edge.

< _ Does it really smell that bad? _ > she asked.

< _ It will be their undoing in the end, _ > Lumpy replied, < _ even now they choke on their own creations. But it is their own choice, and so it is none of our business. _ > The giant Swarmlord turned an eye to her, < _ Our business is to extract our Patriarch and then be on our way. That is all. _ >

< _ Yeah, yeah, _ > Sharka rolled all four of her eyes.

Lumpy nodded, and then emitted the signal to launch. Tyranid swarmed and packed into landing spores. Sharka entered one with Long-Bottom and a score of Hive Guards, watchful compliments from Lumpy no doubt. One by one, the spores dropped from the launch bay and plummeted towards the planet’s surface.

* * * 

< _ Mmmhhh. _ > Moaned Sharka’s landing vessel as it crashed into the atmosphere. Everything bucked and shook. Intense heat scorched inside. Deafening noise boomed outside.

< _ Oh be quiet, you can’t feel anything. _ > Sharka snapped at her vessel. Mycetic Spores were one of the most simple minded Tyranid. A hollowed out cavity made room for a small landing force. Knotted muscles strung about the cavity, holding together the shell. Inside, the walls were coated with thick layers of stretchy tendons, slushy blood, and gelatinous membrane. The outer shell was a tough mass of thick bone and hardened flesh. The brain was a tiny mushy pebble; its only function being to tighten or release the muscles holding the shell together. No pain receptors. No brain power to even process the concept of pain. Landing hulls were built for one purpose: to penetrate planetary defense systems and bring its crew to the ground.

< _ Mmmhhh. _ > The spore bucked again as it passed into a thicker layer of the atmosphere.

_ So why does it sound like the spore is complaining? _

< _ Shelly has the right idea, _ > transmitted one of the Hive Guards huddled next to her, < _ This whole thing was a bad idea. Never should have left the main fleet. _ >

Sharka droned, < _ Shelly? Don’t tell me you named my Landing Hull. It can’t even comprehend what a name is. _ >

< _ Yeah, _ > Long-Bottom chimed in, < _ I agree with Shelly. We should pass this planet by. Leave the humans in peace. _ >

Sharka flexed her upper left taloned tendon. As expected it stretched out, showing off its meter long metallic-infused bone; sharp and slick and dripping with venom. She tightened her tendon. As expected it curled inwards, retracting into her arm with a sickening squelch.  _ My body is still under my control. _ Rage boiled in her first stomach. With anguished fury she screeched at her soldiers, < _ Why do you resist me so? Brother’s, Sisters, you are but extensions of me! I am the master mind! I am a Norn Queen! _ >

< _ Technically a Norn Queen to-be,> _ Long-Bottom corrected, < _ Our true Norn Queen’s are still breeding in the center of the fleet. _ >

< _ AHHH!!! _ > shrieked Sharka. None of her genes had prepared her for this. Every instinct in her body told her  _ she _ should be in control. But time and time again, her Tyranid forces resisted her commands. 

High pitched pings signalled Lasgun fire pelting the shell. < _ Brace for impact. And if you want to challenge me on this, your funeral. _ > No complaints came this time as Sharka and her crew hunkered down. They stretched their bodies flush with the bottom of the shell, stomachs facing down. Three seconds later the spore crashed upon the planet's surface.


	8. Chapter 8

Long-made habits pushed Nigel into work. Clear plastic canisters sprayed forth heavy mists, dousing the floors, walls, and ceiling in a bubbling, gray-green solution. It was a mix of homemade Devour-Goo, general Tyra-Cide, and Ork-Krush^™ (imported from the nearby border systems). Once the solution dissolved, he would flick on his vacuum. Guiding the long, dark tube with his hands, the machine sucked up any remaining guck or debris. Orange light glowed from the incinerator strapped to his back; flashing red and whirring loud whenever a large chunk was sucked in. The last step was to scan the area with his handheld and document it in the log.

Spray, suck, scan. Hallway by metal hallway, room by wood room, Nigel worked his way through his route. The team had split apart, each member assigned to their own section of the sector. They started at the edges and worked their way to the center. Usually this would take most of a Terran day. Anyone who finished early would help whomever was falling behind. Nigel was usually the third one done, Martha being first and Barb second. Today was different.

It wasn’t that his section was particularly dirty. He just had a hard time staying focused. A few times he would blink his eyes to find himself leaning against a wall or crouched on the floor, forgetting how he had got there. One time a patrolling guardsman found him in this state and detained him “to be Psyker scanned for Chaotic influence, just to be safe.” It took half an hour to find an available Psyker, during which time the guard searched his gear, taking everything apart and leaving it discarded around him. Once the Psyker was found it took but a second for him to probe his mind and give him the clear. The guard was commended for his vigilance and the warriors departed, Nigel standing glumly among his dismantled belongings.

A blur of time later, while he was scanning a hall ceiling, Nigel heard boots clanging loudly against the floor ahead of him. He looked up to see Barb running towards him, gripping her vacuum hose like a lasgun. He looked back up, sweeping his arm wide to make sure the scanner got everything. Barb slowed to a stop beside him, panting heavily.

“What’s taking you so long?” she gasped, “we’re sixteen hours in and you’re barely halfway done!”

He sighed, “Got caught up in a security check, had to reassemble everything.”

“That’s not an excuse. You should still be closer to Command Center by now.”

He brought the scanner close to his face and beeped some buttons.

Her breathing evened and her tone softened, “Luckily for you Carl’s section was particularly nasty. Martha’s busy helping him out, but she’s going to be mad as an Ork if she finds you like this. If we work really fast we might finish close to when they do.” She folded her arms and stood looking up at him.

He grunted, holstered his scan gun, and turned aside. A nearby door was wide open, its suction door retracted. He tromped inside.

It was laid out in a similar fashion to all the lesser offices of the Command Sector: a semi-circular desk confronting the door, a high-tech computer encased in the raised surface, walls decorated with medals, statues, and paintings. This room was a little larger than most, indicating an officer of high rank. Numerous large, golden medals, intricately sculpted, confirmed this. There was also a non-standard liquid plasma screen mounted on the far wall, displaying scenes of colorized space and distant planets in perfect detail. The only sign that it wasn’t a window was the ripple it made when transitioning between scenes.

Nigel walked to the center of the room. He held out his spray canister and pointed it at the desk. His finger paused over the trigger. The computer screen was still on, displaying a maze of blinking, fine-printed texts. Below the screen, where the surface of the desk flattened out, sat a plate. On top of the plate sat a half eaten lemon bar.  _ That’s strange. Maybe the door was left open on accident? _

He looked around the room again, more closely this time. Other than the desk and wall decorations, it was empty. The liquid plasma screen currently showed a dark, barren planet against a backdrop of a nearby red-dwarf star and distant white specks. Among the medals were mounted bronze statues of exotic life-forms. Nigel could only recognize one of the medals; a silver piston engine that indicated an officer who had fought to protect Cipher 112. Everything looked to be in pristine condition. Everything was clean.

“What’s going on, Nigel? I can’t keep defending you if you won’t at least tell me what’s going on,” Barb’s high voice startled him. He gulped. The ticket in his pocket seemed to burn.

Facing the dark planet, back to Barb, he whispered, “I had plans, Barb. I wasn’t going to live on this planet forever, ya know?”

A moment of silence, then, “That makes sense. You didn’t fit in perfectly here. People try and leave all the time. You...you still can if you think you would be happier somewhere else.”

Nigel opened his mouth to speak, but his throat caught. He nodded.

Barb continued, “It won’t be easy. Civilians don’t get to just leave when we want. But you could join a ship’s cleaning crew. Or if you start saving you might be able to buy a ticket to a nearby system…” her voice quieted, “...in a dozen years or so.”

Water welled in his eyes, “Thanks, Barb. I think I’ll be staying here though.” A white text caption bubbled to the surface of the liquid plasma screen: 

Vegan Spaghettification phase Gamma - Verification Shot 2.

_ Vegan spaghettification? _ Suddenly, an altered image of the dark planet appeared in his mind. The Red Dwarf star was still in the background. Even the distant star formations were the same. Only, in place of the dark, barren planet was a vibrant one. Shades of light blue covered it’s surface, indicating the rich water encasing the planet. It was an image he had seen countless times before when lying awake late at night. On a brochure he would hold in his hands and trace the outline of the pictured planet. It was where his family was supposed to be waiting for him. Where vegans could be vegans without fear nor shame. It was Eggplant 43.

The caption disappeared as the image rippled into a far shot of the Andromeda Galaxy. Nigel spun around and lurched for the desk. His eyes scanned the maze of text headers. They locked onto one small beeping message in the corner:

Vegan Spaghettification.

His fingers flew to the screen. He tapped the text, and the folder expanded to cover the screen. Five new folders were listed in neat order: Alpha Phase, Beta Phase, Gamma Phase, Delta Phase. He tapped Omega. A new page filled the screen, labeled  **Classified** in big, red, bold letters.

“What are you doing!” Barb gasped, shuffling to stand behind him. “You can’t access an officer’s computer!”

Nigel ignored her, scanning the classified page with his eyes. It detailed Tyranid devouring of planet Eggplant 43. Verification shots, much like the one he had seen on the liquid plasma screen, were embedded throughout the document. They all showed different angles of the planet post-devouring, a barren wasteland devoid of any life. There was also mention of a “poison” the Tyranids were ingesting.

Barb moaned, “Ohhh no, look. He left his lemon bar. And the computer was already on, wasn’t it?” Nigel scrolled down the page. “This is a mistake, Nigel. The officer will return any moment and we’ll be executed for breach of security. Civilians aren't supposed to know military plans!” 

The page ended by confirming “subjects lost,” “poison ingested,” and “Delta Phase ready for activation.” Nigel backed out and tapped on Alpha Phase. As he read he growled, “They don’t care about us, Barb. They never did. I deserve to know what those Imperial Ork-brains did to my family.”

“Your family?” she whispered.

Alpha phase was labeled  **Classified** just like Gamma. It was mostly math and astronomical mappings; jargon Nigel couldn’t understand. The last few lines, however, he could.  _ Eggplant 43 appears to be the best candidate for the mission. It has a ninety three percent chance of being in the Hivemind’s path. It is also eighty eight light years out from the closest known fleets, sufficient enough time to reclaim and colonize. _

“A whole planet, Barb. They sacrificed a whole planet of people.” Cold lead formed in his stomach as he exited the page and tapped on Beta Phase. Just like Alpha and Gamma, it was labeled  **Classified** . 

“Oh,” Barb gasped as she read the page with Nigel. It was an advertising campaign to get Vegan’s to come to Eggplant 43. Flyers would be distributed to civilians in nearby star systems who didn’t eat meat or animal by-products. Those same planets would undergo campaigns to stigmatize and shun vegans. Eggplant 43 would be a place to get away from it all, a safe place for vegans. Flights from nearby star systems to Eggplant 43 would be heavily subsidized and their cost cheapened.

He didn’t even need to read Delta Phase to know what was going on. Heat flared in his stomach and on his face. Turning to face Barb he growled, “They found a planet they knew would be devoured by the Tyranid. They lured Vegans to the planet. The Tyranid ate the Vegans. And now the Emporium is free to slaughter the Tyranid without fear of being eaten, because now the Tyranid have the Vegan gene. My family’s blood was used like a poison.”


	9. Chapter 9

_ Kaboom _ . The momentum of their plummet slammed Sharka into the inner hull coating. The force on her back was tremendous. But she was a Tyranid. Stably sound organs procured from thousands of galactic DNA softened beneath the impact. Her bones were not brittle, and bent to accommodate the g-force. Her frontside was protected by the soft coating of the Mycetic Spore, slowly sliding into the goo and gore as the downwards force was spread about. Her Tyranid brothers were surviving the same. Only the spore itself would die, its final act to relax its muscles. Shell plates fell apart. Dust filled sunlight illuminated the inside of the spore. They were on the planet's surface.

Even as the last shell plate fell to the ground, Sharka was pushing herself out of the membrane. Dozens of spores crashed against the concrete ground nearby. Human soldiers, about two Malanthrope’s lengths away, stood in formation. There weren’t many, certainly not the planetary defense force she had expected to meet. A few manned mortars, most gripped their Lasgun’s in grim silence. Dullish-grey armor, fragile and thin looking, was their only defense. None looked particularly tall, not like those “Estartes” breed that caused so much trouble.  _ Looks like we slipped through their surveillance.  _ One man stood at the forefront of the small group of defenders. He was clad in embroidered uniform, naked of armor. She flung a talon in his direction and shrieked, both across the psychic channels and through the smoggy air, “< _ ATTACK!>” _

_ <No!> _ Lumpy commanded,  _ <Sharka, you must overcome your hunger! Do NOT eat the humans!> _ But she was already bounding towards them. As she charged she sent battle instructions to her Tyranids; a flanking maneuver to cut off any hope of escape. At the same time the uniformed man was barking orders. Tiny fingers pulled on triggers. Laser fire sped her way. 

Combat instincts kicked in and her mind shut off to the Psychic Channel. With lightning reflexes she leapt high into the air. Hot lasers stung her torso and legs, but the majority passed harmlessly below. Brief pain flashed as she landed, but her genetically enhanced brain quickly blocked it out. She bounded the distance between them before the humans could release another volley. The Commissar's eyes widened in fear as her shadow fell upon him. Despite his training, he turned to flee. She skewered him in the back with three long pincers and a blood-curdling roar.

Blood splattered the soot-stained concrete, dripping from the limp man on her talons. Ashen faced guardsmen watched in frozen terror. She grinned and stretched her fingers. His body broke in half with a sickening snap. Fresh guts and blood poured out. Screams of terror filled the air.  _ How pathetic,  _ she laughed to herself. Already her wounds were nearly healed; her thick blood regenerating bullet-sized holes in a matter of minutes. Soldiers dropped their guns and fled. Instincts from a thousand predatory species overtook her; Sharka gave chase. 

With a single bound she entered the fray, landing on one of the fleeing men and crushing him beneath her belly. Slowly she lifted herself up. The remains were all smeared and broken, stretched between her belly and the pavement.  _ It will take far too long to lick that mess up _ . 

She opened her ear holes, exposing them momentarily in favor of enhanced hearing. Armor clacked and boots beat fast against the pavement. All around men gasped and spat quick curses. Sobs broke open tightly pressed lips.  _ Useless though their fear-based DNA may be, all will be absorbed. _

A leap to her left took her to her next victim. The soldier was frozen in fear, but she had heard the tears falling from his face. Three muscled tentacles wrapped around him in tight embrace. She squeezed till the man shed blood in his tears. To her right a guard stumbled backwards in shock, a glazed look over his eyes. A quick leap and slash of her talons decapitated that one, his body hitting the ground a few seconds after his head. Further ahead two soldiers were scrambling to get away. A low dive and reaching swipe separated their kicking legs from their torsos. 

Screams filled the air as the Norn Queen-to-be lumbered over to inspect her attack. One of the men was unconscious, but still breathing. The other was still alive, desperately trying to crawl away. He wasn’t making much progress without his legs. Boiling acid dripped from her mouth as she watched. Some fell onto the man’s face, burning it with a scorching hiss. The man gave one last cry of pain before letting his arms fall limp. The Tyranid leaned over to fill her stomach.

“Unholy creature!” a high voice cracked.  _ Idiot _ , Sharka thought, snapping her gaze to her left. Two bounds away was a man, small for even human standards. His legs trembled under the weight of a las-Cannon cradled in his arms. One arm was bent beneath it so his thumb rested on the trigger. “Die in the name of the Emperor!”  _ Should have shot me while I had my back turned. _ She lurched forward; he closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. Shaky shoulders make for bad aim; millenia old instincts never miss. Tyranid teeth sunk into the man’s flesh as cannon-laser flew askew.

While licking her chops an intense pain flared in her hindlegs. She staggered and let out a tremendous roar. Her head swiveled around. A fresh pack of soldiers crouched behind her, pumping blasts of laser into her legs.  _ Where did those gnats come from? _ She thumped her tail on top of them. They dove for cover, and the laser-fire on her back legs relented. As soon as it did, new pain erupted over her front legs and belly.

More soldiers, stalking slowly through the carnage, were coming in from all directions. Wherever she struck the men dispersed, only for another squad to fire at her newly exposed flanks. One leg became too mangled to use, and she limped on her remaining five. A crunch here, a splat here, soldiers succumbed to her swinging talon scythes. Then another leg crumpled, and she fell to her stomach. 

Sharka shielded her face with two tentacles and re-opened her mind to the Psychic Channels. She cried, <Where are my brothers? Lumpy? Longbottom?> Empty silence greeted her. Lasfire was coming in from all flanks now, pelting her sides, arms, and back with searing heat. She poked her head up, eyelids wincing from the incoming lasers.

Already her devastation was being undone. Commissar's, strutting with ornate pistols and embroidered swords, executed fleeing men. Behind the officers came hundreds of fresh troops, marching beside gun-laden trucks. Small battleships hovered above. 

Fresh pain flared around her neck. She screeched and fell limp upon the concrete. Her vision dimmed, and she felt her consciousness fading.  _ It is a good thing I am dying.  _ The firing increased.  _ I was not strong enough to command my swarm. _ The feeling of vacuums snapping shut indicated her limbs were evaporating.  _ I was not fit to be Norn Queen. _ A hoarse shout, and the firing ceased. She could feel her consciousness slipping away. A bald man, clad in flamboyant chrome armor, stepping before her. Her vision dimmed.

“Looks like the poison hasn’t gotten to all of them, yet,” he smirked at her. What bile she could muster in her torn throat she spat. Before she could see whether it hit the man, all went black.


	10. Chapter 10

Sharka opened her eyes. She was in a concrete room, chained to the wall. Biomass oozed from numerous wounds across her body. A tall human guided a tube that sucked up her spilt remains. He was thin, with long dark hair and long dark fingernails. His head lolled to the side as he worked. It passed just beneath her mandibles…

She lunged at him. The chains held her back, and her jaws snapped empty air. The man glanced up from his work. His eyes took her in with a steady gaze. A steady gaze, with pools of sadness in his pupils.  _ Why isn’t he scared of me! Am I really so weak, so inconsequential? _ The Tyranid roared in anguish.

“Sorry to disappoint,” he replied, his vacuuming hand slowing to a still, “I’m sure you would appear most fearsome to any other man.”

Sharka reared her head back in surprise.  _ Go on... _

“I heard a little about the battle, about how one Tyranid in particular wreaked havoc amongst our planetary defenders. They told me about it, before they pushed me in here,” he swept the vacuum nozzle across the room. “‘He’s expendable,’ they said. ‘Who cares if he gets eaten by the Tyranid.’” His chin fell and his shoulders dropped.

Sharka cocked her head to her side, keeping her eyes glued on the peculiar man. 

He glanced up and whispered, “You ever feel like you were born into the wrong species?” His voice picked up volume, “You look the same, smell the same, shit and eat the same, but you’re not one of them?”

She nodded.

“I suppose you would know,” his voice caught in his throat. He gulped, “You’re the only Tyranid from the landing force that fought back.” 

She sighed.  _ The only one? Did none of my brothers lift a talon in defense? _

“You and I, we’re not so different as we look,” he said, pointing the vacuum nozzle at her and then himself.

She laughed, a pained gurgling sound from her throat.  _ Oh please, I could eat you in a heartbeat. I am a Norn-Queen-to-be! You are but a worker drone destined too... _ Her stomach heaved, and fresh guts poured out. Most slopped against the ground, but some splattered on the man.

Her black, acidic blood went to work fast, melting through the man’s jumpsuit and burning upon his skin. His eyes widened. His jaw gaped open as he let out a scream of anguish. He dropped to the ground on all fours, breathing heavily. 

“Please,” he growled beneath clenched teeth, “I am the last Vegan.” Red, human blood began to pool on his skin, mixing with her black blood, “I cannot let our cause die with me.” With a grunt he shoved a hand into his back pocket and pulled out a white plastic bowl. It was filled with porous tan chunks, and sealed with clear plastic.

“This,” he gasped, holding the bowl in front of him, “is Tofu. No true Vegan can resist its flavour.” Red blood was gushing fast out of the man. All color drained from his face. “Use it to find more Vegans, and continue our cause. Please, don’t let it all be for nothing...” 

Her blood was eating away at his exposed bones now, all life having left the man. Sharka stared cautiously at the Tofu.  _ Does it really taste that good? _ She stuck out her tongue, and with great dexterity bestowed by genes from a snake-like alien absorbed long ago, peeled back the plastic top. She licked up the Tofu chunks inside. It was soft, and spongy. Her teeth tore it apart with ease, and her saliva disintegrated the rest.

She licked her lips to savour the flavour, it being the last Tofu of the humans. She wrinkled her nose and thought,  _ Eh, not bad, but I’ve tasted better. _


	11. Chapter 11

The long Tyranid shifted his weight. Hot gas expelled out his rear and filled his cell. It was a cold, metal cell, not like his living cell on the bioship. Iron bars locked him in. Humans patrolled the hall, where brothers were caged just like him. It was all very boring for Long-Bottom, and so the warm gas filling his nostrils began to lull him to sleep.

Suddenly, a loud crash sounded down the hall. Long-Bottom perked up. He pressed himself against the bars, trying to see the action. Humans ran by, shouting curses and loosing lasers. Then, there was silence. Soon two guns were thrown back down the hall, hands still gripping the triggers. One of the soldier’s heads followed after. 

A damaged Tyranid squished down the hall into view. She was bleeding badly. She had a measly two mouths, both in good shape. Her three and half stomachs were much worse, each bleeding out of laser-fire holes. She had two razor-sharp talons, coated in blood. Eight thick tentacles were riddled with laser-fire. A tattered tail concluded her battered body. Despite her beaten shape, her four eyes gleamed with spirit under the fluorescent lights.

< _ Sharka? _ > Long-Bottom gasped.

< _ It is good to see you too, Long-Bottom. Who else remains from our landing force? _ >

< _ Uhh... _ > he drawled, and then pulled himself together, < _ Most of us are here in captivity. After a the humans shot a few of us down they realized we weren’t fighting back.> _

< _ Good, good. _ >

< _ But Sharka, how did you escape? _ >

< _ The Patriarch and his cult free’d me. Lumpy thought he was in control, but I knew the Patriarch better. He wasn’t going to just leave peacefully and let a bounteous planet be passed by. Speaking of our SwarmLord, where is Lumpy? _ >

< _ I am sorry to inform, our SwarmLord was one of the unlucky ones slaughtered by the humans. _ >

A slow grin spread across the Norn-Queen-to-be’s face, < _ Then I suppose that means I am in charge. _ >

Hope blossomed in Long-Bottom’s heart. < _ Does that mean my name can be Slick again? _ >

< _ Sure, sure. Now, how do I free all of you? _ >

Slick jumped with joy, < _ Hurray! Uh, the warden had the key on his belt. I think you chucked his head down the hall earlier. _ >

< _ Ah, that one didn’t put up much of a fight. Okay, hold on. _ > Sharka limped back down the hall. Black blood trailed behind her. A strange smell, one Slick had never smelt before, reached filled his nostrils. Suddenly, Sharka’s blood looked very appetizing.

By the time Sharka returned with the key, Slick’s mouths were dripping drool. < _ Um, Sharka, can I lick up your blood that you spilt? _ >

She made a face, < _ Uhh...that's not a Mycanthrope’s job to do biomass reclamation. But if you really want to I guess it's okay. _ > She pressed a keycard against a panel. The bars of the prison cells all lifted simultaneously.

Slowly, the Tyranids crawled and slithered from their cells. Slick was the first to bathe in Sharka’s blood, slurping it up as fast as he could. Soon all his brothers joined in the feast; Rippers and Guards, Raveners and Termagants. When they were finished and none of Sharka’s blood was left on the ground, they turned to face their Leader.

< _ What are you doing?> _ She demanded, < _ Why are you looking at me like that? _ >

< _ I’m sorry, _ > Slick sighed, < _ but we can’t help it. You taste so good, Sharka. So...good... _ >

And then they were upon her. Ripping her limbs apart and sinking their teeth into her flesh. She didn’t put up any resistance, just lay back and let her brothers devour her. As her body disappeared into the Tyranids stomachs, her thoughts muttered, < _ Why? Why?> _ Finally, before she was wholly consumed, a smile spread across her face, < _ Oh, I know. It must have been the Tofu. _ >

* * * 

A fire ignited in the Tyranid as they ate their fearless leader. Ancient instincts, buried deep beneath the Vegan gene, resurfaced. In a hunger-ific frenzy they unleashed their stomachs upon the human planet. The spirit of the frenzy spread to the Hivemind itself, and within a matter of days the Hive relapsed to mindless hunger. In honour of their Norn-Queen-to-be’s noble sacrifice, they named the Hive after the mysterious final word she thought: Hive Tofu.


End file.
